


Pumpkin and the Evergreen

by theyalwayssay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Christmas Fluff, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyalwayssay/pseuds/theyalwayssay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outside, it smells of frost, but inside the shop, there's nothing but the warm scent of coffee, chocolate and caramel. Each winter day is slow and snowless, until one dark-haired man brings the frost inside.</p>
<p>Best listened with: Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pumpkin and the Evergreen

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a precious idea put out by Tumblr's ineffable pocketmartin, which I snapped up in a moment. I hope you love it, dear, it was an absolute pleasure to write! Please feel free to leave a comment telling me what you thought of it!

There really should be snow. The wind was crisp and cracking as a whip, licking lashes of stinging cold up the red cheeks of passersby, wrapped up like presents. The leaves were torn from the trees to wheel and spiral into the currents of air, skidding and flying along the pavement, sticking to shins and storefront signs and lampposts. Inside, the warm air stuck to skin like melted caramel, the scent of pine and cinnamon and chocolate hovering in a dense fog at perfect nose level. Children and adults alike stepped into the warm coffee shop like they were stepping into the holidays themselves, noses peeping over scarves and turtlenecks and sniffing at the air as though they could swallow it whole, their eyes twinkling like storefront glass reflecting fairy lights.

And yet there was no snow.

Dean Winchester leaned against the counter and sighed. It had been slow today, much slower than the usual steady stream of friendly regulars the shop entertained. The tables were empty except for two teens sitting against the window, a pile of books and papers spread out before them. The girl leaned back, running her green-and-red painted fingertips through her red hair, the strands sticking to the collar of her long knit sweater. One of her booted feet kicked the ankle of the boy sitting across from her. He looked up, his black hair falling lightly across his forehead. The girl whispered something quietly to him, and smirked and shook his head. Sighing, she got up and walked to the counter. Dean gave her a casual half-smile.

“Who’s your friend, Anna?” he asked, the quiet, tinny melody of the Hallelujah Chorus playing over the shop speakers drowning his words.

“His name’s Cas,” she replied, straightening her black-rimmed glasses. “I’m working with him on a business project. I have to tell you, Dean, graduate school is completely overrated. And I thought I didn’t get enough sleep in college.”

“Not a good partner, then? Is he making you do all the work or something?”

“No, he’s actually doing most of the work himself. He doesn’t talk that much,” Anna lowered her voice. “He’s really sweet, but he’s so quiet. My professor paired us up, but we haven’t said more than fifty words to each other on any given day. I’m starting to think he doesn’t like me at all.”

“Sounds like a coffee day,” Dean said, smiling. “The usual?”

“Yes, please. And a pumpkin latte for Cas? It’s what he ordered last time, ” Anna replied. The bell above the door tinkled as several more customers blustered in, two of them waving at Dean.

“I’m on it,” Dean said, waving back to them and walking towards the coffee machine. Anna walked quietly back to the table, the soft mutterings of conversation drifting through the shop like a warm, syrupy haze.

“Ginger!” he called after several minutes, holding up a coffee. “Ginger!”

“There’s no need to yell, I’ve got it,” Anna said, getting up and striding over to the counter, taking the coffee out of Dean’s hand. Dean grinned at her and pulled out a second coffee.

“Pumpkin?” he called. No one walked up to claim it. “Pumpkin, anyone?”

Anna poked Cas in the arm. “He means you.”

“Wha-?” Cas looked up at Dean, his eyes wide and bewildered. “I’m pumpkin?”

“Yes you are, pumpkin,” Dean said, winking, as several of the other shop patrons giggled. “You ordered a pumpkin latte, so you’re pumpkin. That one over there is cookie,” he jerked his head at a blonde girl sitting by the window, who laughed and covered her face with one mittened hand, “That one’s peppermint, he’s caramel, and you…” he finished, turning back to Cas with an exaggerated finality. “…are unreservedly and undeniably pumpkin. If it helps, I call Anna ginger cause she always orders gingerbread lattes, plus she’s got the hair for it,” he said, winking at Anna, who rolled her eyes at him.

“I don’t suppose that would really work for me,” Cas said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. “If you went by hair, you’d have to call me espresso,” he said, pulling at the end of a lock of his dark hair. Dean laughed, and Cas smiled tentatively, as though he wasn’t sure whether or not to be happy about Dean’s reaction.  
“Enjoy your coffee,” Dean said, regaining his composure and handing it to Cas.

“Thanks,” Cas said, reaching into his pocket and dropping a handful of change into the little jar. As he walked back to the work-strewn table, Dean cast a glance into the jar. Every coin he’d dropped in there was a quarter, equaling about ten dollars. Dean nodded his head, leaning against the counter and watching the shop proceedings lazily. He was a decent guy, as far as tips went. And insane blue eyes, too. He didn’t even need the snow if he could just watch those eyes instead. Looking at them was like looking through thin ice into deep water.

***

Dean had a poinsettia tucked behind his ear, and Cas was laughing loudly enough to drown out Carol of the Bells.

“Thanks, Anna,” said, pulling the flower out from behind his ear and putting it back in its little flowerpot beside the register.

“Wait, I wanted to take a picture,” Anna said, leaning over the table and trying to speak through her giggles.

“It looks so pretty on you, Dean,” Cas said, smiling so widely that it seemed his face should crack along the seams. “Very festive.”

“I can’t stand poinsettias,” Dean replied, turning back to the coffee machine. “They look so gross, like plastic. Get me sunflowers if you want me to be impressed.”

“Sunflowers in the middle of winter? I don’t exactly see that happening,” Anna replied.

“Doesn’t matter. Dean, are you going to quiz me or not?” Cas said, tapping his foot anxiously on the ground.

“All right, all right,” Dean said, running a hand through his hair. “What are the main themes of The Great Gatsby?”

“The decline and overall illusion of the Jazz Age,” Cas recited.

“Did Gatsby really love Daisy?”

“No, he was in love with the idea of her.”

“What does the yellow car represent?”

“Gatsby’s penis.”

“…You could have just said ‘overcompensation’ and I would have marked it right.”

Cas shrugged. “Might as well hit the nail on the head. I’m right, though.”

“Well, yea, but it’s about the power of Gatsby’s power manifested into a physical object…”

“Yes, that object being his penis. Are you really arguing with Sparknotes, Dean?”

“Okay, well you could at least say penis a little quieter, I’m technically supposed to be working,” Dean replied.

“Stop worrying, no one’s here except for us,” Anna said airily, gesturing at the empty shop. “And I don’t plan on leaving until I finish this Business Calc work. Things are way too loud at my house to get anything done.”

“At least you don’t have to deal with all your older brothers being in the house at the same time. Christmas is great, but not when you have to deal with all of them being here at once. I feel like I’m ten again,” Cas said, flipping through his note cards. “Gabriel keeps trying to slip vodka into my food.”

“And then you drown it out with coffee, pumpkin,” Dean said, leaning over the counter. “Not that I mind, it means I get to see you two more often, and you give excellent tips. I should make you two mascots of this place.”

“No, not me,” Anna replied, her eyes on her papers. “I’ll be graduating next year, and you’ll never see me again. Make Cas the mascot, he’ll be sticking around for a few more years.”

“And I won’t be going anywhere else for coffee,” Cas continued, getting up and taking the coffee from Dean. Dean nodded, leaning back against the counter and grabbing the dog-eared book from the counter. “You know, most people read this in high school,” he said, flipping through the highlighted pages. “Or at least other people did. For me it was comic books, Tolkien and _Star Trek_.”

“ _Star Trek_ ’s not a book,” Anna replied.

“Yea, but the principle’s the same.”

There was momentary silence in the shop. Dean flipped through the book, noting the occasional Gatsby or Buchanan or Old sport. There was a clatter and a splash behind him.

“Oh, _damn it!_ ” Cas cried. Dean turned around to see him clutching his hand, the coffee spilt all over the floor.

“Oh, shit,” Anna said, pulling her notes away from the spreading puddle. “Shit, shit, shit, if any of this ink runs, Cas, I’ll kill you,”

Cas glared at her, uttering a very pointed “ _Ow_.”

“Wait, did you burn yourself?” Dean asked, walking around the counter and over to the table.

“No, I’m just holding my hand for dramatic effect,” Cas replied scathingly.

“Okay, point taken,” Dean said, pulling him up from his chair. “No need to get bitchy. Come on, let’s get you sorted out.”

Cas stood up from the table, following Dean through the door into the tiny washroom. Dean turned the spigot until the water coming out was icy, and held Castiel’s hand underneath the stream.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Dean commented, looking down at the red skin. “It’ll be gone in a day.”

“It’s my fault anyway,” Cas sighed. “I nudged the cup with my elbow.”

“You think you’re the first to do this? Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll help clean it up,” Cas said earnestly, trying to pull away from the sink.

“I don’t think so!” Dean said, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him back. “You have to leave the burn under water for ten minutes, and it definitely hasn’t been ten yet. You’re not going anywhere.”

Cas’s shoulders slumped, his face disgruntled. “I’ve no idea how I’m going to explain this,” he mumbled.

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “Explain what? It was hot coffee, it got on your skin, it’s not some huge plot twist.”

“No, I…I told my brothers that I wasn’t going to come back to the shop. They think I’ve been studying at the college this whole time,” he said, tossing his head nonchalantly.  
“Why do they not want you to come back?”

“They just think it’s a bit stupid, my hanging out in a coffee shop all the time. Think it’s bad for my grades. Obviously they’re just making fun, since Gabriel nearly flunked out last year, but they think that I’ve…met someone while I was here, and they won’t stop going on about it.”

“Met someone? What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, taking Cas’s hand and turning it over to check the state of the burn. “Not that it really matters. Older brothers are dicks. I should know, I am one.”

“I know, I’m not going to let it bother me,” Cas replied airily. “They’re just ridiculous. I’d much rather spend Christmas without them like every other ye-wait, you have a brother?”  
Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on Cas’s hand. “Yea, I do. His name’s Sam. He’s a Junior at the high school. He’s actually applied to work here a couple of times, but I’ve been able to convince him not to. He’s got this idea of going to Stanford, and it’s not going to happen if he fails his classes so he can work. As long as I can pay for the apartment, food and the car, there’s no reason for his to work.”

“What about your parents?” Cas asked quietly.

“Died. A while ago. It’s just me and Sammy now, but I prefer it that way,” Dean replied. He kept turning Cas’s hand back and forth in his own, presumably checking the burn. He noted that he’d been idly stroking Cas’s palm with his thumb for the past minute, and hastily let go. Cas’s eyes flicked to his before falling back to the floor.

“It’s the same sort of thing with my parents. I mean, they’re still alive, but after I moved out they moved down to the Caribbean, got rid of their phones and computers and everything. They went on this sort of retreat, and I haven’t spoken to them in two years. So in a way, it’s like they’re gone. And all they left me was a tiny apartment and crappy older brothers,” he muttered, glaring at the floor.

“Not even a car?” Dean asked, watching him closely. “Well, tell you what then. You’re hereby allowed to borrow my car whenever you want, as long as you don’t screw her up, or I’ll kill you.”

Dean checked the burn again. It looked a bit better, less lurid and crimson, but it still stood out in offensive contract to the pale skin of Cas’s hand. It was like fairy tale skin, nearly too pale to be real. Like snow, or ivory. Something rare and unattainable. Dean could feel the quiet in the air, sticky and hot like a cloud of humidity. He shuffled on the balls of his feet.

“What kind of car do you have?” Cas asked, trying to dispel the silence that had fallen in the air.

“A ’67 Impala.”

“A model that old? Sounds like a bit of a rustbucket.”

“Not another word out of you, or I’ll pour lemon juice over this thing,” Dean said, pointing threateningly at Cas’s injured hand. “My baby is the best car money can buy. Gatsby’s got nothing on her.”

“So, you’re saying you’re not overcompensating?” Cas said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up,” Dean said, knocking his shoulder against Cas’s.

“But I do wish they’d just leave,” Cas continued quietly. “It’s like I can’t do anything without them finding some fault in it. I’d rather just be here for Christmas then at the apartment.”

“I won’t deny that’s the coffee’s probably better,” Dean replied, smirking.

“Dean!” Anna called, and Dean and Cas looked around simultaneously. “I think you might want to see this.”

Dean turned off the sink, wrapping Cas’s hand in cellophane despite his protests. “What is it, Anna?” he asked, walking back into the shop, Cas in tow.

Anna, her hands full of soggy paper towels, gestured towards the large windows facing the street. Momentarily, Dean couldn’t see what she was so excited about. Then his eyes caught the faint flicker of ice.

“Finally!” he crowed, watching the flecks of snow build up on the curbs and windowsill.

“It’ll be half a foot by Christmas if it keeps this up,” Anna said, smiling.

“Damn right it is! And that’s why drinks are on me today,” Dean said.

“Except, the drinks are on literally everything except for you,” Cas replied.

“You know what I mean.”

***

_Come to the shop at 6 on Tuesday._

Tuesday’s Christmas. –C

I know. 6 on Tuesday. Be here.

My brothers aren’t going to let me leave. –C

Then sneak out. I’ve got a surprise. 

***

The snow had muffled the curbs and sidewalks, and the roads were slick with ice. Cas drove slowly, hoping that his fumbling job of putting on snow chains would hold until he got to the shop. He had taken Gabriel’s car, and, after tampering in vain with the heater for ten minutes, resorted to wearing gloves to keep his fingers from sticking to the wheel. He huffed, his breath coming out in smoky cloud. Why on earth was he doing this? He could be home, with a functioning heater and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, eating breakfast and going back to sleep before his brothers woke up. But Dean wouldn’t have asked him to come if it wasn’t something important. And, he was ashamed to admit it, he was a bit curious. No one had ever given him a surprise before, and with Dean, he felt the possibilities could be endless, ranging from a new coffee syrup to a new car. But he wouldn’t have asked him to come unless it was something really, truly important…

…There was a horse in the street.

A horse and carriage were standing outside the front door of the shop, the horse tossing its huge black head, hooves the size of dinner plates pawing at the frosty ground. The black carriage was bedecked with garlands of holly, golden ribbons fluttering in the sharp breeze. Cas walked closer, stepping back as the horse turned to look at him between its blinders.

“So, here’s what I was thinking,” called a voice. Cas looked around to see Dean stepping out of the shop door, dressed in a green sweater, a long dark blue sweater wrapped around his neck. “Sammy’s spending Christmas at a friend’s house, you didn’t want to be stuck in the apartment, I didn’t want to spend it by myself, and so, in other words,” he hopped up onto the carriage and leaned out the other side, his smile wide enough to crack in two like ice. “Merry Christmas, pumpkin, is what I was thinking.”

“I…what about Anna?” Cas asked, his eyes wide.

“Anna’s gone to visit family for the holidays, didn’t she mention?” Dean replied offhandedly.

“She didn’t say…”

“Well, we’d better get going, anyway,” Dean said, sitting back in the plush red carriage seat. “Can’t have the horse out in the cold all this time.”

“This old girl’s been out in a blizzard and come back with icicles in her mane,” said the driver, turning back to look at Dean and adjusting his hat. “She can handle a pissy little ice shower like this one.”

“Fine, Ash, then I don’t want you to be out in the cold for too long,” Dean replied scathingly. “You get a cold when it drops a degree, I don’t want you dropping like a fly on me.”

“Watch yourself, Winchester, or I’ll up the price,” Ash replied, settling back into his seat.

“What, will I have to pay you more than free coffee for six months?” Dean asked with mock innocence.

Ash shook his head. “Is your friend coming or what?” he asked, jerking his head at Cas.

Dean glanced over at him. “What’s up, Cas? You need a boost or something?”

Cas rolled his eyes, which was incredibly painful in the frosty weather, and hoisted himself up into the carriage. The moment he was settled into the seat, the horse set off at a brisk trot down the street. Cas grit his teeth, the cold wind slapping his face with agonizing repetitiveness.

“Here,” Dean said, and pulled a blanket out from under the seat, black velvet with gold trim to match the carriage. Cas pulled it on top of him, wrapping it around his shoulders and exposed neck. “Well, don’t hog it all,” Dean said, pulling the other half up to cover himself. Cas pulled his legs up to curl up further into the seat, nestled into Dean’s and the blanket’s warmth. Shops and houses passed, decorated with snowmen and Christmas lights and wreaths. Some children were out building a deformed snowman from the curb slush, and a woman was pushing a stroller filled with a pile of blankets that must, in some region, contain a baby. The swift clop of the horses hooves beat like a metronome against the street, the carriage bouncing slightly on the uneven road. Cas leaned back, trying to cover all but his eyes as the freezing wind persisted.

“For God’s sake,” Dean muttered, putting an arm around Cas’s shoulders and pulling him close. “Better?”

Cas nodded, burying his nose against Dean’s shoulder, his head twisted to gaze down the road.

“Where’re we going?”

“Have you seen the Christmas tree on Main Street yet?” Dean asked. Cas shook his head. “Let me tell you, it’s awesome. Enough lights to fill a house from top to bottom, I swear.”

Cas nodded again, feeling his eyes droop. He hadn’t thought of getting any coffee before he left, and the swaying of the carriage was like a grownup cradle, rocking back and forth. He could feel Dean’s breathing under his arm, deep and steady, like waves beating on rocks. Endless. Perpetual. Cas’s, on the other hand, seemed to have stopped completely.

He turned his head so that he was looking up at Dean. Dean looked down at him, and from this angle, Cas could see every little detail of his face. The little gingerbread-coloured freckles that were sprinkled over the bridge of his nose, the tiniest of scars on his top lip, his eyes, green as evergreen boughs with the thinnest of golden flecks, like gold ribbons. And something so strange, smoldering like a fireplace deep within them, right in the center of the irises. And at least Cas knew that if he made a mistake, he could always throw himself from the carriage.

Dean’s lips were as cold as iron, as chapped and shredded from the elements as the end of a ship’s rope. Cas closed his eyes, tightly shutting out the world, tethered only by the feeling of Dean’s lips, shocked and still like a deer about to dart, against his own. Cas’s fingers clenched with nerves, his thoughts running and spinning. _Look at you, you idiot, you’ve gone and wrecked it for yourse-_

But then Dean was kissing him back, and there was music playing, the Hallelujah Chorus, faint and tinny but unmistakable. Was it coming from his own head? Dean’s lips tasted like espresso beans and snow, caramel and frost. His nose was pressed against Cas’s cheek, his breath hot as a dragon’s against his mouth, so substantial that Cas thought he could swallow it up to warm his lungs, fill his stomach up like a hot air balloon, Dean’s lips writhing and swaying like a tree in the wind, and Cas being pulled along like a kite, desperate to stay tethered.

“I can hear music,” Cas said, pulling away. It was louder now, stronger, and he smiled against Dean’s mouth.

“We’re at the tree, idiot,” Dean replied, jerking his head over Cas’s shoulder. Cas looked around, his back coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder. The tree sparked like a great monolith against the grey sky, glittering with thousands of gold lights and red baubles, its top illuminated by a monstrous gold star. Cas sighed, feeling the last of Dean’s warm breath leave him. His eyes grew fuzzy, and he leaned further back into Dean’s warmth. But there was something amiss. Things like this never happened unless something was already wrong.

“Dean,” Cas said, biting him bottom lip as he turned to face him, holding the blanket tightly in his mittened hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t me-”

But Dean reached for him this time, one hand strong on the back of Cas’s neck, his lips determined and insistent, and so, so warm. Cas tilted his head back, feeling the light haze of falling snow coat his features. Was this, he thought, what a religious awakening felt like? Like something was reaching down and tugging at his soul, golden fingerprints covering his bones, flowers and fruits and great, ancient trees sprouting in his lungs, ivy trailing up his spine, like he was made to exist in order to live. Or, in this case, to love. To love Dean, strong and recurring as the oceans, smiling like the moon behind clouds, everything so alive, so full, so perpetual, like a glass that never ran empty.

Dean pulled away slowly, his teeth catching Cas’s bottom lip and tugging ever so slightly, like the breeze tugging on a blossom. Cas leaned forward as though boneless, his cheek coming to rest against Dean’s chest, his arms coming up to circle him. He could feel Dean’s lips land softly in his hair.

“Happy Holidays, pumpkin,” he whispered, and Cas could feel him smile against the top of his head. Cas smiled too, so widely he thought his teeth might shatter. The music sang on, echoing down the street, growing fainter all the while, and the snow came down, the clopping of the horses hooves muffled by the multitude of white flakes. Pine trees stood like sentinels along the road, everything else sleeping under the layer of frost, flowers and bushes gone, but the dark brown and green enlivened by the snow, bedecked in their blankets of white and gold.


End file.
